


Zutara Drabble December

by ifyouwereamelody



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Smut, ZK Drabble December
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifyouwereamelody/pseuds/ifyouwereamelody
Summary: A collection of drabbles/ficlets based on prompts from Zutara Drabble DecemberWill cover a whole range of dark, light, angsty, fluffy, some smut in there - I'll put a wee idea as to what to expect in the author's note at the start of each chapter, so if anything isn't for you then you can skip!
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 82
Collections: ZK Drabble December 2020





	1. Of Shadows and Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 prompt: Nightfall
> 
> 'He was never meant to want her. And she was never meant to find him.'
> 
> Rated M, smut, almost has some dark The Little Mermaid vibes? That might just be me, though.
> 
> Edit 27/12/20 -- this has somehow turned into a multi-chap story? You can find it here, if you're interested in reading more! https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349604/chapters/69458760#workskin

He is a son of daylight; that’s the certainty with which he’s been raised. Zuko is firstborn to a family blessed by Agni, a boy shaped from fire and sun, his veins brimming with liquid gold to make him somehow _above_ , somehow _more_ than those who aren’t so fortunate. To rule — to shine bright and blinding across the land, to stand proud whilst the masses exalt and cower before him — is his birthright.

Those who slink around in the twilight are to be scorned and sneered at. Or, when he’s feeling generous, pitied. They are weak and mean, cold-blooded from the chill pallor of the moon’s feeble attempt at light, and they make no effort to lift themselves out of the murky darkness in which they dwell.

They are nothing compared to him, he’s told. And he believes it. Every moment from sunrise to sundown, he holds the conviction molten and glowing in the space at the base of his breastbone, and it’s easy enough to keep the fire burning in the dry warmth of the day.

When night falls, though, that’s when Katara comes to him.

He was never meant to want her. And she was never meant to find him. Not after their first fateful encounter just a few weeks ago, that ill-met collision of day and night as he found himself caught outside the city walls at dusk. She saved him from the prowling of her brethren, showed him the secret gap that she used as passage to the city and its spoils, but that should’ve been the last of it; the quickening of his pulse and prickling of his skin should’ve been labelled as fear and promptly forgotten, and she should’ve pretended that she didn’t care where he went once he left her sight, and there should’ve been no more story to tell.

But where the sun goes, the moon will always follow.

Every night, without fail, she appears. A solid, silver apparition of the small hours, she slips in through his window on a beam of moonlight, steals into his bed, and passes the inky depths of night making him her own.

She’s ruthless, this woman who spends her life swimming in shadows, utterly unforgiving as she brands him with her breath, guides his fingers into the slickened heat between her legs, stirs him senseless with the press and curl of her hips. Night after night, Katara uses him to draw whatever pleasure she wishes from herself and wrings him ragged in the process — icy blue eyes meet his, flutter closed as she finds her satiety hot and glistening against him, and the flame of Zuko’s sun-fuelled belief gutters, flickers, dies.

But even as she pulls away, as she leaves him on whisper-soft footsteps, no chill finds its way into the space that she’s left behind; he is scorching, ablaze in a way that he only ever feels by her touch. And he wonders, as he does every night before the morning breaks, how the garish light of day could ever possibly compare.


	2. Candour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 prompt: Please Don't Lie
> 
> ‘I don’t expect to be lied to by a guest on my own ship, Prince Zuko. The truth, please.’
> 
> Rated G, Book 2 canon-divergence, Zuko is introduced to Hakoda for the first time.

Zuko can see where Katara gets it from.

As far as resemblances go, there’s no denying that Chief Hakoda shares far more with his son than his daughter, but the shrewd, penetrating stare that he’s giving Zuko just now? The way the man seems to be trying to pick him apart and find the gears that make him move? That’s a look that Zuko’s seen a hundred times over on Katara’s face.

‘The son of the Fire Lord, you say?’

The beams across the ceiling creak as the ship sways on the sea.

‘Yes. But Dad, he’s not what you think.’

The conviction, the fierce, stubborn faith that fuels her voice leaves him weak in his hands, his knees, his stomach... Everywhere save for his chest, which all of a sudden feels stronger than it has in years.

‘He saved me. He and his uncle hid me from his sister and the Dai Li, and almost got themselves caught in the process. They risked their lives getting me out of Ba Sing Se—’

She looks towards him, and he doesn’t dare turn away from her father to meet her eyes, but he _does_ tilt his head just enough that he can steal a sideways glance in her direction; her face has eased from the dogged resolve that had sharpened it before. In its place comes this quiet, sure smile, one that’s slowly become more and more familiar but somehow never less remarkable over the last couple of weeks, and his breath comes staggering out of him like something newly-born.

‘—and Zuko helped me find my way here. To you.’

She’s addressing her father, but she’s still looking at _him_. The backs of her knuckles brush against his, just for a moment.

‘I see.’

Zuko’s gaze snaps back to Hakoda at the gruff contemplation in the other man’s voice, but now Katara is the one on the receiving end of that discerning stare. It doesn’t escape her notice, and Zuko feels more than sees the way she tilts her chin up and stares right back.

It would be enough to pull a smile out of him if he weren’t so gods damned nervous.

‘Katara, can you leave us for a moment?’

The nerves increase tenfold.

‘What? Why do I need— Dad, what are you doing?’

‘So long as your friend is what you say he is, you don’t have anything to worry about.’ Hakoda doesn’t quite smile, but his eyes crinkle at the corners as he nods Katara towards the door behind her. ‘It’ll only take a minute.’

She wavers, looking from her father, to Zuko, and back again, and Zuko can hear the cogs in her head crunching against each other on his behalf as she wrestles with the idea of leaving him alone. He shifts, just slightly, just enough that he can press his upper arm against her shoulder for a few brief seconds.

_It’s okay. I’ll be alright._

And she hovers for a breath more before, with a frustrated huff, she spins abruptly on her heel and leaves the room.

Zuko is left standing before Hakoda, exposed and apprehensive and bearing the full weight of the chieftain’s gaze once more.

The ship gives a particularly enthusiastic lurch, the room tilting sideways so that Zuko has to stumble a few steps to keep his balance. He’s spent too long on land; his sea legs have left him, and he can feel the beginnings of sickness roiling in his stomach for the first time in months.

It’s a long time before Hakoda speaks.

‘If my daughter is to be believed — and I’m generally of a mind to think she is — then you are not the person I expected. Plenty of rumours have reached me in the past about Fire Lord Ozai’s son, and I’m sorry to say that none of them painted you a good man. But Katara has described someone different.’

Zuko isn’t sure what to say to that. But then, it doesn’t really feel like a question — perhaps it doesn’t warrant an answer.

‘I’ve never seen a firebender with quite such a serious burn before. Will you tell me how you acquired it?’

Somehow both a question and not a question all at once, now, but the chief’s voice softens in a way that lets the tension in Zuko’s back loosen a little, and the truth feels easy enough to release with it.

‘My father, sir. He believed it would teach me a lesson about questioning him.’

And Hakoda’s expression doesn’t _change_ , exactly, but there’s a flicker behind his eyes and twitch in his jaw, and something more of Katara seeps into the lines of his face.

‘Prince Zuko, I trust my daughter’s judgement. Which means I’m inclined to trust you unless you give me reason not to. But there’s one more thing that I want to be clear on first: what are your intentions with Katara?’

Zuko balks, Hakoda’s blunt question hitting something in him that he isn’t quite ready to admit exists yet. The lurching of the ship starts up again — or perhaps it’s just his stomach this time — and he scrambles for the safe ground of denial.

‘Sir, I don’t want—’

‘I don’t expect to be lied to by a guest on my own ship, Prince Zuko. The truth, please.’

No getting away from it, then. Oh, gods. Something groans in the depths of the boat, and Zuko grasps desperately for the words he needs.

‘I— My... My intentions—’

‘Slow down, son.’

Slow down.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Find what’s true.

‘My intentions are whatever hers are, sir. Whatever she wants.’

‘Even if she wants nothing more from you?’

‘Especially then, sir.’

And as it turns out, Katara gets her smile from her father, too.

‘There’s no need to keep calling me that, you know — _Hakoda_ is just fine.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very different vibe from the last one, I know! I had a much angstier idea in mind for this, but I'm working on writing light at the moment, and thus this was born. Feels a wee bit rushed, and I *scraped* the 1000-word limit here, but there it is!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!


	3. Weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 prompt: Heavy Hearts
> 
> 'They dance slow, slowly enough that maybe it doesn’t seem as though they’re actually moving at all. Maybe everything else is just spinning around them.'
> 
> Rated T, post-war celebration and first kisses.

'...and if anything’s worth a drink, I’d say that five years free of war probably makes the cut. Everybody make sure that you’ve got...’

Sokka’s toast fades into the background as another, closer voice brushes past Zuko’s ear.

‘He’s really gotten better at public speaking. At least now he doesn’t drop everything he’s holding.’

He chuckles under his breath, eyeing the bottle of wine that Sokka’s brandishing at the crowd.

‘That’s good. Wouldn’t want to waste all that sake.’

Katara prods him in the back, returning his hushed laughter back to him on the buoyancy of her breath.

‘Thought you weren’t drinking, Fire Lord.’

‘That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be upset to lose a good bottle to your brother’s clumsiness. Besides—’

He tilts back, directing his words to her even as he keeps his eyes trained forwards.

‘—my uncle has said he can handle anything that comes up tonight. He said that _sharp wit is overrated when a drink with friends is the alternative_ , then practically forced a glass of shochu on me.’

‘Ah, Iroh. Always such a good influence.’

‘Shh. Stop distracting me, I’m meant to be listening to the toast.’

‘...so I’ll finish with some old Southern Water Tribe advice: to those who are happy, drink to stay that way. To those who are heavy-hearted, drink so that you can bear the rest of the world. And to those who are solemn, dull, or Katara, drink so that the rest of the world can bear you.’

Liquid sprays from the neck of the bottle in Sokka’s hand, dousing the tribesman in rice wine, and Zuko is finally free to be drawn around, snorting with laughter, to the bright lodestone of Katara’s smile.

‘I take it back. Feel free to waste as much sake as you want if that’s what you’re going to do with it.’

‘Noted.’

* * *

They dance laughing, turning messily across the dancefloor with not a right foot between them.

‘I never understood that phrase.’

They dance close, him gripping her tight to stop them both from whirling out of control.

‘What phrase?’

They dance slow, slowly enough that maybe it doesn’t seem as though they’re actually moving at all. Maybe everything else is just spinning around them.

He can _feel_ his uncle pretending not to watch.

‘ _Heavy-hearted_. Things are heavy when they’re full, right? So why would anyone want a light heart?’

She laughs, her arms draped easily around his neck. Her chin drops down towards her chest, forehead pressing briefly against his shoulder as if she might find a resting place there. But then she straightens up, and as she shakes the hair back from her face he’s suddenly flooded with the light, familiar smell of her — salt and mango and something else, something floral that he’s never quite been able to put his finger on.

‘When did you get so poetic?’

_When was the first time you laughed at something I said?_

_Fucking Agni, don’t say that._

His hands press a little warmer at her waist.

‘Must be the wine.’

Her voice skims a little closer at his neck.

‘Yeah. Must be.’

* * *

The stars are caught up in the night’s celebrations, swirling through the sky in a dizzying blur of firebird, crane, dipper. He and Katara lie on the grass, side by side, and they alone are held still as the world takes them for its fulcrum and turns, turns, turns about the point where her knee touches his.

‘So.’

‘So?’

‘What’s got you all heavy tonight, then? You and your heart.’

Too many things, all too much to voice, all some iteration of her.

But it’s okay. Somehow his sake-imbued mind is smarter than his sober one, and it hands him that elusive scent that still floats around them with her lying by his side.

‘Water lilies.’

_Water lilies._

He watches her mouth the words to herself.

He watches her mouth.

He watches her.

And she smiles, slipping closer towards him and settling herself into the crook of his arm, running a line of contact down the lengths of their bodies as her eyes turn back towards the sky.

The fullness in his chest pulls him down against the ground, fixing him even firmer to the earth.

* * *

They both know where this is going. The question has already been answered in the twining of their fingers, in the heady, heart-racing silence that falls over them as he walks her to her room.

But, somehow, he’s still not ready for the way her mouth feels against his. She still manages to strike every nerve in his body alight and set his blood running sharp and hot in astonishment, still startles his muscles into quaking as her hands slide across his shoulders and up his neck to toy with the hair at his nape. And she seems no better prepared, shivering against him as he nips at her bottom lip and his fingers dance along her spine.

When Katara pulls back, her whisper is laden with five years’ worth of waiting.

‘I think I know what you mean.’

‘About what?’

She takes his hand, presses it against her chest.

‘I don’t think a light heart could beat this hard.’

‘Now who’s feeling poetic?’

She chooses not to answer with words, but the warm, taunting pressure of her lips back on his is more than rhyme and metre enough for him.

The click of her door swinging open speaks volumes.

He sinks under the weight of her touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear, I won't be keeping up with these prompts every day -- I'll probably end up dipping in and out and writing for days when a particular idea comes to mind with a prompt, so keep an eye out!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!


	4. Picking up the Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 prompt: Little Pieces
> 
> 'He kisses her, finally kisses her, and with that it’s like every breath in her body has been given up to him.'
> 
> Rated E for explicit sexual activity, and therefore posted separately from this work, friends to lovers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27922006

Maybe see you over there!


	5. Treading Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 prompt: Caught in the Moment
> 
> 'She can see the seconds collecting, prickling across his skin with nowhere to go, no means of release. The rest of the world keeps moving, and he stands still.'
> 
> Rated G, set in a medical environment with talk of injury/surgery but no graphic descriptors, hurt/comfort

Funny, how a moment passes. How it ensnares. How easy it is to step into a new one with no idea how long it’s going to last.

The one that Zuko’s trapped in right now is infinite — Katara can tell as soon as she spots him in the waiting room. He’s paler than usual, smaller, hunched over in his seat with glassy eyes and the echoes of hastily-explained medical jargon reverberating around him.

‘ _Your uncle has_

_ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm_

_severe haemorrhaging_

_approximately fifty percent survival_

_transfusion_

_open repair_

_we'll do_

_we'll do_

_we’ll do what we can.’_

The daily workings of the hospital buzz in the background, unaware that everything should’ve stopped to sit and watch and wait alongside the man who’s being gradually absorbed into the liminality of this white-noise space.

The clock is paused.

She can see the seconds collecting, prickling across his skin with nowhere to go, no means of release. The rest of the world keeps moving, and he stands still. How are you meant to move forwards without knowing which way forwards is?

Time is no river. There is no on-rushing flow from source to sea here. Right now, time is an ocean, and he’s treading water. Barely. A slow, quiet drowning in a hospital waiting room.

His hand is clammy and bloodless when she reaches for him, the warmth leeched out of his skin by harsh lights and a heart caught in stasis. He sucks in a curbed, cramped breath, and his eyelids flicker at her touch, but he doesn’t return the squeeze of her fingers. No matter; she can hold onto him tightly enough to keep him afloat for now, as he flounders in the in-between.

She’ll stay in this moment with him for as long as it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I'm not sticking to a schedule with these. I put my hands up. They're gonna come willy-nilly as inspiration strikes and as I have the time/brain power to actually write them!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!


	6. Backbone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 prompt: Spine
> 
> 'It shouldn’t surprise him, how entrancing he finds it — everything else about her is beautiful, after all — but it was never something that Zuko had thought about, never something he’d noticed on a woman before he met her.'
> 
> Rated G, I think? T at most, but only if you're really reaching. Just Zuko musing about how brilliant his wife is, really.

She has this groove that runs all the way down her back.

It shouldn’t surprise him, how entrancing he finds it — everything else about her is beautiful, after all — but it was never something that Zuko had thought about, never something he’d noticed on a woman before he met her. Now, spirits help him, he can’t do anything _but_ notice.

Every time Katara turns away from him, his gaze draws helplessly towards the stretch of skin that’s visible between the hem of her top and the waistband of her skirt. Every time he holds her, his fingers streamline, running along the riverbed of her spine from nape to sacrum, chasing the shivers that run through her at his touch. She sleeps on her front more often than not, now, and he swears he spends whole nights just tracing that same line up and down her body.

Which, the thought strikes him, may well be the reason for the change in her sleeping habits. When he asks her about it, all she does is smile.

* * *

She has steel in her spine.

That comes as no surprise whatsoever — it’s been there since long before he ever really knew her, since before she faced him, unbending, over and over again across riverbank and icy tundra and crystal catacomb. He could almost believe that it was something she was born with, if only he didn’t know in painful, guilt-ridden detail what she had to go through to earn it.

Every day, he watches her stand strong against the things that seek to break her, the people who see a young Water Tribe woman on the Fire Lord’s arm and suspect she’ll fall easy prey to their prejudices. Every day, he sees her pull her back straight and tilt her chin up and hold fast for the things she believes are worth fighting for. The fact that she’s decided _he_ is one of those things never fails to leave him speechless.

* * *

Katara is smart, and kind, and consistently terrible at telling jokes.

She has eyes that crinkle at the corners when she laughs, and hair that seems to twist into an inexplicable tangle as soon as he runs his hands through it.

But of the wealth of qualities he has to choose from, Zuko thinks his wife’s backbone might just be his favourite thing about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts!


End file.
